


An Edgy Conversation

by Jhonni



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal is a Tease, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Sexual Tension, recalcitrant metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-05-28 05:33:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6316612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jhonni/pseuds/Jhonni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal seems especially smug one morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> visit me on Tumblr at lecteronthelam (Hannibal Lecter rp) and acutehypersensitivity (Will Graham rp)

That morning Will wanted to knock Hannibal off his game. 

Or his horse. Or something. Whatever it was making Hannibal buzz around the kitchen like some love drunk hummingbird. 

The cannibal in his oven mitts and apron, sleeves rolled up with perfect symmetry. A bizarre Homes and Gardens if Will had to summarize.

Still in his boxers, Will leaned against the counter, drinking - no, _slurping_ milk from his cereal bowl.

What? Nothing? 

Will realized it was worse than nothing when Hannibal came this close.

“You missed some.” 

Other mornings, Will might have leaned into the touch. But not today.

“When will the biscuits be done,” he asked without a trace of interest in anything other than changing the subject. 

“Scones.”

“Scones,” Will repeatedly flatly, trying to ignore the fact that Hannibal hadn’t yet given back an inch of his personal space.

There it was. God damn it. That smile Will knew would come. The one Hannibal only got when he was about to start pontificating about something. 

“Patience. Sometimes anticipation is greater than reward.”

Did he have any idea how ridiculous he sounded talking about pastry with a reverence most people reserve for eulogies? The comment didn’t even fit, for fuck’s sake.

A sigh tore through Will. 

“How long have you been waiting to use that one?”

Hannibal’s smile was all teeth. 

“A long time.” 

A half assed effort was all Will would give to figuring it out. Completely certain that he’d find out soon enough. At length.

“Looking a little pink today.” 

Will felt his cheeks rush with color. Still, he wouldn’t give in that easily. The raised brow came almost automatically these days. 

“Am I?” 

His eyes weren’t where Hannibal was looking though. Nor his pink cheeks. 

The hum that came from inside Hannibal was so obscene it seemed reasonable to entertain the thought that Hannibal Lecter might actually be the one man in the world who could come by staring at another man’s mouth. 

“Still glowing from last night’s activities.”

There it was. The lift at the end a weak effort to make it into a question rather than a gloat. But the gloat was coming. 

“Proud of ourselves?” Will poked. 

Might as well get it over with.

Purring is an odd way to describe a noise made by a grown man, much less a six foot, one-hundred eighty pound cannibal, lettered in erudition, but there was no other word. 

“Mmm. A pitch and vibrato that put my theremin to shame.” 

Will’s face burned hot. How long had Hannibal kept him there, dangling with just a single finger. He was sure Hannibal knew exactly how long. Not sure he wanted to know. 

The swallow seemed to take forever.

“Yes. Well . . .”

Good one, Graham. Way to show him the back of your hand. 

Will’s grasp on his dignity leapt for a swan dive when Hannibal’s cheek brushed against his. 

“Next time, much, much longer.”

Fuck. Mind reading now? I hate you so much. 

The seething only made it worse. There had to be something. Something he could use as an anchor. They were too close. Hannibal’s body mirroring the shape of his as he leaned away.

 

.


	2. Chapter 2

Hannibal went with it, leaning until their chests bumped. His apron draped against the thin fabric of Will’s boxers.

Will held back a hiss. The familiar scent of Hannibal’s cologne wasn’t helping at all. Nor was the way his tongue caressed each word. 

He tried his best to focus. At least if he could grab the thread of what Hannibal was saying he might be able to stop thinking about all the other things Hannibal could do with that mouth.

Words swooped past his head until Hannibal came to something about sharpening a knife. It was enough for Will to lob back a comment.

“The less surface area, the more pounds per square inch.”

His smug satisfaction was cut short though. 

“It’s a matter of degree. And of course we’re not talking about pressure. Or even force.”

Will groaned. Loud.

Of course. We’re never talking about whatever it is we’re talking about. 

Shoulders slumped, he listened as Hannibal expounded about how a knife could be honed but there was a limit before it lost its existential knifeness.

Just as he was about ready to throw a flag for the shameless use of a made up word, Hannibal turned his attention to isotopes.

Will’s sigh was one of resignation. His eyes reached into Hannibal’s only to find something smoldering in the pitch black. 

Now that he looked more closely, he could see Hannibal’s pulse. His lids getting heavy.

There went the thread. What was he saying?

Something about the half life of matter. Something about infinity.

“An unending chord.”

Oh ... 

A knot twisted in Will’s belly.

“Infinite resonance,” Hannibal whispered behind Will’s ear. 

Oh ... 

“Sustain,” Hannibal purred, nuzzling.

Will’s hips pitched forward with a mind of their own. His nails dug into the edge of the counter. 

The onslaught of sensation was immediate and unforgiving. From drunk to floating to flying. A kinesthetic memory imprinted on his brain. 

The look in his eyes changed to one of pleading. Every nerve signed on to the petition.

“W-when?” 

Too far gone to worry about the whimper in his tone, Will’s legs gave a twist.

Hannibal’s grin spread teasingly slow.

“It’s only breakfast, Will.”

The buzz of the oven interrupted their little tête-à-tête, like some referee calling the end of a round. 

Will wanted to roll his eyes as he watched Hannibal sashay away, but instead barely managed to bite his lip before a moan slithered out. 

“Have one while they’re warm.”

You’ve got to be kidding. 

Will blinked at the plate of pale scones speckled with currants, reluctantly glancing up at the proud smile on Hannibal’s face.

“You’ll need your strength.”

The arch of a pale brow brought Will back from the threshold of grumbling. 

“Will I?” 

There it was. That patented Will Graham only-if-you-ask-me-nicely look. Back from the dead.

Hannibal hummed his reply, his eyes licking up Will’s nearly naked body.

“Breakfast in bed then.” 

The coyness in Will’s expression was gone. His tone said it wasn’t really an invitation at all. More a demand.

This time it was Hannibal’s legs that gave a twist. Enjoying a sudden rush of warmth, he pecked a soft kiss on Will’s cheek.

“I thought you’d never ask.”


End file.
